Biblical Sense
by Kristen Elizabeth
Summary: Two strangers from two different worlds...a chance meeting.


Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, you know it and I know it. 'Cause if I did own these characters, one of them would still be with us. ::::sniff::::: 

Author's Notes: This is a response to a fanfic challenge that I found in The Labyrinth, a great Willow fan fiction archive. The challenge was to write a relationship between our favorite flame-haired Slayerette and....well, I'm not sure I want to say. You're just going to have to read it:) This is my first attempt at an unconventional relationship, so go easy on me:) Also, it will be fairly easy to figure out when this story takes place. 

Dedication: This one goes out to my roommate, Samuel, for being completely irreverant all the time, annoying me to the point of homicidal thoughts, dancing on my last nerve whenever he has the chance, ordering me to make him macaroni and for being, despite all of that, one of the best friends I've ever had. 

Biblical Sense by Kristen Elizabeth 

Willow Rosenberg sighed and flipped to a new page in one of her roommate's fashion magazines. "Another exciting Friday night in Stevenson Hall", she muttered. After a second of staring at the brightly colored page without actually reading anything interesting, she angrily pushed it to the floor. "How can Buffy read that junk?" 

The red-head flopped back against her pillows and stared up at the white washed ceiling. "I wonder how many other girls have lain here looking up at this ceiling?", she asked herself. "When they could have been out at the Bronze...or at a poetry reading...or studying." She glanced at her alarm clock. Eight thirty. "I'm a freshman in college! I should be out....doing things. College things." 

It wasn't as though she hadn't tried. After turning down Buffy's offer of poetry reading that the Slayer was being forced to attend for English class on the grounds that her recent romantic tragedy still weighed heavily on her mind, she had given a more than fair go at studying. She gave up after realizing that she had read ten pages on psychotic behavior, but couldn't remember a single word. "I learned all I'll ever need to know about crazy people from Faith", she had reasoned, setting her Psych book aside. 

That was when her phone rang. It was her oldest friend, Xander Harris, asking if she wanted to boogie, as he put it, at the Bronze with him. 

"C'mon Will", he had pleaded. "It'll be fun. I'll buy you a chocolate muffin." 

"Is there a band playing tonight?" His offer didn't sound so bad, she had thought. 

Her suspicions were aroused when he hesitated in answering. "Um...yeah", he had finally managed to reply. 

"It's the Dingoes, isn't it?" Despite all her efforts to hold them back, hot tears flooded her eyes. 

He had sighed. "Maybe you should come anyways. It might...I don't know...help. To hear them." 

"Thanks Xan, but I don't think so. Maybe someday...not yet." 

After Xander hung up, she had tried to watch the news on the tiny TV she and Buffy shared, but it depressed her too much. She saw enough death in Sunnydale; she didn't need to hear about all the death in the rest of the world. Having run out of things to do, she had spied the large pile of fashion magazines Buffy kept under her bed, well out of sight in case Giles ever happened to stop by their room. 

That was how she had gotten to be where she was. Alone and talking to the ceiling on a Friday night at the number one party school in California. She seriously considered walking to Giles' house, but then remembered that he had mentioned a friend of his was arriving that night. She had gotten the impression that he wished to be left alone for the entire weekend. 

She wanted to scream. The feeling surprised her; it was not at all like Willow Rosenberg. *But*, she thought, punching her pillow, *it might just be what the doctor ordered.* With that in mind, Willow opened her mouth, prepared to let out the loudest scream of her life. It didn't come. "What is wrong with me?", she cried out to the empty room. The silence was deafening. Realization suddenly set in. 

"I've got to get out of here." 

Willow quickly pulled on her sneakers and tied up the rainbow laces. She grabbed her keys and wallet and dashed to the door. But once her hand touched the cool metal of the doorknob, she stopped. Slowly, she walked back to her closet, opening the door to reveal her full length mirror. She stared at herself for several long minutes. Same old red hair softly framing her face. Blue and purple striped top under maroon corduroy overalls. She made a face at her reflection. "Boring, boring, boring!" 

But what to do about it? These were her clothes; this was her style. Her eyes roamed the dorm room in search of answers. They came when her gaze settled on the identical closet on Buffy's side. A plan began to form in the back of Willow's mind. She fought it admirably. *Borrowing Buffy's clothes without asking isn't right....oh, who cares about what's right? You always do what's right.....but what if Buffy gets mad? An angry Slayer makes for a bad roommate..." She soon found herself rifling through her best friend's closet. 

Ten minutes later, Willow was back in front of her mirror. But she might as well have been an entirely different person from the girl who had been there earlier. She checked the ties on Buffy's backless black velvet top. A pair of skin tight black pants completed the look. Buffy had vowed to never wear the outfit again after her night with Parker; Willow's guilt over borrowing it lessened with each passing moment. . 

"All dressed up with nowhere to go." Another thought came to her. "Oh no....no, that's impossible....not conceivable", she told her reflection. But even as she spoke the words, she knew she wanted to do it. Something so reckless, so not premeditated. Something Giles would shake his head at. Something that would make Buffy's mouth fall open. Something that even Xander wouldn't believe she could do. Something completely out of character..... 

**** 

"One roundtrip ticket to Los Angeles." Willow nervously smiled at the bus station attendant. "I haven't missed the nine o' clock, have I?" 

The obese woman shook her head in apathy. "That'll be forty-two dollars even." 

Willow dug into Buffy's black evening bag and pulled out a few bills. "And I can get the return ticket whenever I like, right?" She handed the money over. 

"Just as long as it's within in thirty days. That's the deal." The woman counted the bills and typed a few things into her computer. 

"Well, I definitely won't be there for thirty days", Willow said, playing with the bag's fringe. "I mean...I couldn't do that. I have school and there's vamp....um....midterms. It's really just to get away for awhile, you know? I just want to do something that..." The bored woman thrust the bus ticket in her face. "Thank you", Willow finished. She picked up her overnight bag and headed for her bus. 

The man who checked her ticket gave her outfit an appreciative smile as she climbed aboard. "Have a nice time in L.A.", he told her, winking ever so subtlely. She rolled her eyes and concentrated on locating a good seat. The bus only carried a few other passengers, so finding a window seat near the back was no trouble at all. Willow plopped down and buckled her seatbelt, settling in for the two hour drive to L.A. 

**** 

"Welcome to the City of Angels!", the driver's voice woke Willow from a peaceful doze. She rubbed her eyes before looking out the window. The brightly lit streets of Los Angeles flew by in a blurred haze. She smiled happily. If only Buffy and Xander could see her now. 

The driver's words stuck in her head as the bus pulled up to the station. City of Angels.... "Oh!", she whispered. "Angel lives here now, doesn't he?" For a moment, she considered looking the vampire up and paying him a visit. *No*, she ultimately decided. *I don't want to bother him.* 

Willow stepped off the bus and into another world. To a girl who had spent her lifetime in Sunnydale, California, the city was one big wonder after another. And....it was intimidating. Her plan, as it had formed in her mind, was to get a cheap hotel room and sleep, wake up the next day and hit the town, see the sights, only bothering to call Buffy after she had seen everything L.A. had to offer. Things didn't quite unfold that way. 

She supposed she should have sensed someone coming up behind her. But later, as she thought about it, she realized it had all happened too fast for her to have done anything to stop it. All she knew was that one minute she had her overnight bag and the next, it was ripped out of her hand. She watched it disappear in the man's hands and, with it, her sense of adventure. Suddenly, all Willow wanted to do was get out of L.A. 

Fortunately, the thief hadn't noticed Buffy's bag, its strap crossed over Willow's chest. She silently thanked the Goddess that she had placed her bus ticket information in the bag, along with her ID, room key and money. All she had really lost was a few articles of her own clothing and her toothbrush....all replacable. But, she soon found, a new problem faced her. 

"Well, what do you mean when you say there isn't another bus to Sunnydale until tomorrow?" She bit her lip to keep back frustrated tears. 

The L.A. bus attendant wasn't proving to be much more sympathetic than the one in Sunnydale. "Sorry. All I have is one bus to Seattle. You're just gonna have to find a place to spend the night." 

Willow thanked the woman and dejectedly left the station, holding onto Buffy's bag with all of her might. She looked around the block as if by doing so a solution would find its way to her. All she saw was a homeless man peeing across the street and a fairly disreputable bar down a few yards from the bus station. Again, the thought of locating Angel came to her, but once again she squelched it. Angel would want her to call Buffy. "And I am not calling Buffy", she said resoundedly. "I got in this...I'll get out of it." She looked back at the bar. They would undoubtedly have a phone with a phonebook, something the bus station was missing. Taking a deep breath, she headed off down the street. 

**** 

Smoke greeted her as she entered the bar, invading her lungs and forcing her to cough. Several of the bar's patrons glanced her way; she recieved a few winks from a group of overweight men playing pool. Willow crossed her arms over her chest and quickly walked to the counter. 

"Um...hi", she caught the bartender's attention. "Do you have a phone I could use?" 

The bartender looked her up and down. "Phone's for paying clients only." 

"Oh...well, I don't really drink", Willow told him in a confidential tone. 

He snorted, wiping a glass with a dirty towel. "Then, you don't really call anyone." He moved down the bar. 

Willow was still for a moment before climbing onto one of the bar's stools. She propped her chin up with her hand, feeling utterly sorry for herself. *This is what happens when you try to be spontaneous.* 

"Excuse me", a voice from a few stools down said. "Did I hear you say you needed a phone?" 

She looked over at the man. "Why?" 

He picked up his drink and moved to the stool next to hers. "It just so happens I have a cell phone with me. Would you like to use it?" 

"Um....yeah....that'd be very nice of you", Willow smiled. The man dug into his jacket pocket and handed her the device. "You wouldn't happen to know the number of a really cheap motel, would you?" 

This amused him. "Actually, I do." He rattled off the number and Willow punched it in. Nothing happened. "Did you press send?", he asked her. 

"Yeah, but nothing's happening." She tried it again, but still the call failed to go through. 

The man took the phone back, a puzzled look on his face. "He must have run the battery down and not recharged it", he muttered. "I'm sorry." 

"It's okay", Willow said, trying to hide her disappointment. "I'll find a phone somewhere." She stood up. 

"No, wait!" The man gestured her back onto the stool. "Stay. I'll buy you something to drink to make up for it. Coke okay?" 

She smiled again. "Coke is fine. Thank you." 

"Least I could do", he replied. "Charlie! A Coke for the lady." 

There was a moment of awkward silence as the bartender fixed her drink. When he slammed it down in front of her, she took a hesitant sip. "Are you from Ireland?", she asked the man. "Your accent..." 

He took a sip of his own drink. It smelled like whiskey. "Born and raised. But I've lived here for awhile now." He looked over at her. "What about you?" 

"Oh, I'm not from Ireland", she replied. Her cheeks turned pink. "I mean...I'm not from L.A. I'm just sort of...visiting." 

He smiled what she decided was a very attractive smile. "Business or pleasure?" 

"It was supposed to be pleasure." She took a drink. "I sort of got my bag stolen at the bus station." 

"It happens too much in a city like this. Sorry it had to happen to you", he said. She could see genuine sympathy in his blue eyes. 

More silence followed. Willow played with the straw in her glass, sneaking little peeks at the man next to her with her peripheral vision. He was probably a few inches taller than her, she figured. He had short, dark hair and those wonderfully blue eyes. His jacket was brown leather, the shirt underneath a splashy green color. Not exactly sleek and sophisticated, but endearing at the same time. 

"So...what do you, um, do? For a living?", she asked him. 

He cleared his throat. "Well, I work with a...private investigator." 

"Is that the guy who ran the battery down?" She smiled to let him know she was teasing. 

"Yeah...yeah, he doesn't quite get the cell phone. In his day, they didn't really have 'em." 

"Well, it sounds exciting", Willow grinned. "Do you get to spy on people? Do you have a gun?" 

"Yes and no." He laughed. "It can be exciting though." Another second of silence. 

"I'm in college", she volunteered, out of the blue. "A....a senior. I'll be graduating in the spring." 

He raised his glass. "Congratulations. What school do you go to?" 

She thought quickly. "Um....the University of California at....um....Berkeley." 

"Well, that's great...uh...I'm sorry. What is your name?" 

"Rose", she lied smoothly. 

"Rose", he repeated. "That's lovely. I'm Doyle." He held out his hand to her. 

Willow shyly shook it. "It's nice to meet you." 

"So, Rose, what is a woman like yourself doing in this part of L.A., at this time of night, by herself?", he asked, sipping his whiskey. 

She took a breath before replying. "I just wanted to....get away from everything, I guess." 

"What's everything? If you don't mind me asking." 

Willow shrugged. "School...friends....responsibility." She swallowed a lump in her throat. "Bad breakup awhile back. Things like that." 

"How is it working so far?" Doyle's eyes twinkled. 

"Not according to plan", she smiled, sheepishly. "But then, I wanted to do something un-Wil...Rose-like." She looked down at her drink. "Do you think I could get something stronger than this?" 

He motioned to the bartender. "Could you add some rum to the lady's drink?" The bartender obliged, all the while giving Willow a wary look. She smiled at him nervously; could he tell that she was only eighteen? "How's that?", Doyle asked when she took a sip. 

Her eyes widened at the sharp taste of the alcohol. It burned a path to her stomach. "Great", she coughed. She took another gulp. 

"It takes the edge off" Doyle finished his drink and signaled for another. 

Willow gave him a curious look. "All right...you heard my sob story. I think it's only fair that I hear yours." 

He glanced down at his empty glass. "It's your basic 'guy searching for forgiveness' kind of story. Only I haven't found it yet." 

Willow nodded. "I knew someone who was going through that. The good news is that if you're on the journey at all, you're already halfway there." 

"I like that." Doyle accepted his new drink from the bartender. "Here's to redemption." 

"To redemption." Willow clinked her glass against his before drinking. **** 

"So this friend of yours...Alex right? What happened between the two of you?" Doyle drained his fourth drink. "Want another?" 

Willow nodded and pushed away her empty glass. It narrowly missed falling to the other side of the counter. She felt so loopy...it was funny. "Alex", she began, slowing her words down to keep them in order. "Alex and I were friends for years. I mean years! And I loved him, you know? I really, really loved him." 

"And now...?" Doyle prompted, passing the new drink to her from the bartender. 

She took a hearty gulp. "Now...now we're back to being just friends. Friends." The words sounded so strange to her ears, so slurred. "Which was great. I had a boyfriend after all." 

"But not anymore?" 

Willow shook her head. "Not anymore." She realized something. "You know, that's the first time I've thought about him since it happened and not wanted to cry." She picked up her drink. "This stuff is great!" 

Doyle agreed. "Don't know what I'd do without it. The people I work with...they don't understand how much whiskey can improve your state of mind." 

"Fools", Willow replied, sadly. They both laughed. Willow leaned her left side against the bar, holding her head up with her arm. She blinked to focus her eyes. "I like you, Mr. Doyle." 

"I like you too, Miss Rose." Doyle pushed his glass aside and stood. "Do you want to get out of here?" 

She threw her head back and looked up at the ceiling for a second. "Where would we go?" 

Doyle shrugged. "For a walk. Find you that motel. What do you say?" He held out his hand. 

She placed her own hand in his, standing shakily. "You're on." 

He threw a few bills on the counter to cover their drinks and led her outdoors, away from the accusing eyes of the bartender and past the leering pool players. The fresh air was a relief to breathe, but it didn't clear her mind of the alcohol. Her walk was uneven; she found herself relying on Doyle's arm to keep her sense of direction straight. 

"I don't usually drink....at all", she confided, narrowly avoiding a wide crack in the pavement. "My friends don't do well with alcohol. Someone always ends up in trouble when they drink it." She felt her knees give out from under her. The last thing she remembered was her own voice saying, "I guess I'm not the exception." 

**** 

The room was dark. At first she thought she might still have her eyes closed, but when she went to sit up, a light next to her suddenly turned on. She quickly shut her eyes again as the light crashed into her brain. Where the hell was she? 

"You're awake", a male voice next to her said. It took her a minute to recognize it. The man at the bar. Doyle. 

"What happened?" 

He sat on the edge of the bed and handed her a glass of water. "You passed out, so I took you here, to my place." 

She gratefully drank; her throat was so dry. "How long ago was that?" 

"Only an hour or so. Do you feel sick? Do you need to...you know, throw up?" 

She shook her head. "I'm okay...for now." A thought occured to her. "Nothing else happened, right?" 

His smile was warm. "Of course not." 

Willow frowned. "Oh. Well, that's good...I suppose." She took another sip of water. "No...wait a minute!!" 

"What's wrong?" 

Her look was indignant. "Why didn't anything else happen? I'm not that bad to look at, am I? Okay, so I don't have breasts like Faith's, but that doesn't mean that my ex was the only guy who...." Doyle cut her off. 

"Rose. You...you are....well trust me...under different circumstances, I'd be on my knees asking for more to happen." He took the glass from her. "But you've had a lot to drink...and you just broke up with that guy. I couldn't take advantage of that." He stood up. 

"Who says you'd be taking advantage?" She drew one knee up to her chest. "Maybe...you wouldn't be." 

Doyle swallowed thickly. "Wh..what do you mean?" 

Willow rose to her knees and faced him on the bed. "Maybe I know what I want...and maybe all of that other stuff doesn't matter." 

"Rose, I.." 

"Shhh." She put a finger to his lips before giving them a gentle kiss. 

He pulled away, shaking his head. "You've had a lot to drink...it wouldn't be right to..." 

"Arghh!", Willow cried out in frustration, pounding the mattress with her fists. "I don't want to do what's right!! Okay, so I've had a lot to drink and yeah, I'm riding the rebound train. But that doesn't mean....that doesn't mean I don't want you." 

He blinked. "You want me?" 

"Yeah....I do." 

"Why?" 

Willow played with the button at the top of his shirt. "Why ask 'why'?" She kissed him again, harder than before. This time, he didn't pull back. His tongue met hers; the taste of whiskey was raw and carnal. Doyle climbed onto the bed, his lips never leaving hers. They faced each other, kneeling. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders and he threw it to the floor as she started on his shirt buttons. Willow felt his hands snake around her waist and begin to untie the top's strings, one by one. She stripped him of his shirt just as he untied the last string. The top fell. His skin was warm against her breasts as he gently laid her down against his pillows. 

Doyle drew back to see her face. "You're beautiful, Rose", he whispered, stroking the soft red hair at her temples. "Are you sure you want to do this?" 

She nodded. "Do you?" 

He chuckled. "I would say definitely...yes." He thought of something and got up. "Hold on a sec." He returned a moment later with a small package. 

"So, you do this often?", Willow said, only half-teasing. 

"My track record speaks for itself." His body covered hers again. "But, it doesn't have much to say." 

Willow kissed him. "Thank you for thinking of it." His lips trailed tiny kisses down her jawline. "Thank you." She reached over and turned off the lamp. 

**** 

The alarm jolted Doyle awake. His arm shot out from under his pillow and sent the clock crashing to the floor. It didn't shut the alarm off. He groggily sat up and felt the floor with one hand until he found the offending device. After only a minute of trying, he succeded in turning it off. 

Doyle sat on the edge of the bed, face buried in his hands. What had he drunk last night and how much of it? Suddenly, he remembered everything. He turned around to look back at the bed, fully expecting to see Rose sleeping peacefully. All he saw through his hungover eyes was the indentation in the pillow where her head had rested. Lying in it was a note. He reached for it. 

*Doyle, 

By the time you get this, I will be headed back to school, my friends and my responsibilities. I don't know quite what I came to L.A. searching for, but whatever it was, I found it in you. And I'll never forget that. 

Your Rose.* 

The phone next to the bed rang. "Hello?" 

"Doyle, it's me. Are you okay?" 

"Angel...yeah, yeah I'm fine. Why?" 

"I tried calling the cell-phone all night. The voice said it was out of operation." 

"Word of advice, man. You might want to try charging the thing after you use it." 

"Point taken. So...what did you do last night?" 

Doyle ran his finger over her name. "I met someone." 

The End 


End file.
